When Wood’s six foot six frame squirms it signals different things for different people. For his Gran it means he’d bought her another gadget to make her life “easier” – she likes her smart phone, tolerates her smart luggage (a suitcase which follows her around like a puppy) and is plain suspicious of her “home assistant” powered by the internet. Laney eyes him dubiously when he surprises her with a trip – Barcelona, Paris, London, Malmo or a staycation – which heralds pub fare and soccer matches are in her future (she likes soccer just fine, but a romantic walk on Seine would add a nice variety – she thanked me when I pointed this out to him).
For me? This wriggle means Wood’s set me up on a blind date.
In his defense Wood always does great job in picking interesting, witty and charming men. If you are waiting for the “but” here it is; charming doesn’t mean sincere, witty doesn’t exclude vicious and interesting doesn’t mean classy. Six out of eight of my all time worst evenings come from Wood’s setups (and I am sure I don’t sparkle in my opposition’s memory either). So for the sake of my sanity, our friendship and the lives of the men of these disasters – I made Wood promise never to set me up with any more men of his acquaintance. Which was only extracted after I told him the story of my date with his dapper coworker Sebastian.
Sebastian thoughtfully included a cardio workout component into our date – moving forty-seven boxes of his ex-girlfriend’s possessions down two flights of stairs into a truck (his ex-girlfriend left for parts unknown twenty minutes after we arrived), unloading the truck again and distributing the boxes around her new apartment according to their labels. Sebastian then thoughtfully provided a meal which was also themed to our activity – pizza and beer. He then proceeded to eat the entire pie and drink a six pack in twenty minutes which caused him to curl up like a huge hedgehog in Tiffini’s living room and pass out. He did regale me with anecdotes from his travels, but since we weren’t eating dinner in a little cafe, listening to jazz and drinking fabulous coffee (as he had with Tiffani) it was hard to relate.
Okay, I can laugh about it now, but I absolutely flabbergasted at the time.
While glaring at my friend (who was doing his level best not to make eye contact), I offered up a hasty prayer to any god who would take an interest – hoping against hope – that Wood’s sudden imitation of an eel stemmed from an acrobatic audition he’d set up for us with Cirque du Soliel after dinner. Or perhaps we were interviewing for a place in a prestigious rodeo clown school – they have those right? Maybe we were receiving our armaments for the tri-state laser tag tournament? But his wriggling butt and wringing hands told another tale, “Wood, you promised!”.
His eyes darted towards the front of The Fungus House and apparently found his salvation there since his faced cracked into a wide smile, “Beatrice, over here!”
Following his smile I saw a strawberry blonde in a three piece indigo colored suit beelining in our direction.
Okay, maybe I’m wrong?
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